


we'll just do it again

by homsantoft (tofsla)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Public Hand Jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 22:34:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7125193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tofsla/pseuds/homsantoft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An exciting night out, against the odds. Dorian, Bull and a whole lot of something. </p><p>In public.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we'll just do it again

**Author's Note:**

> lindsay prompted: under the table handjobs.
> 
> does what it says on the tin.

An hour to closing. Faces blur in the shifting lights, washed out with tiredness and alcohol, giddy. And there’s Dorian, laughing, dragged through the crowd by Sera; no drinks in evidence.

“It’s a fucking bear-pit over there,” she says, slipping her phone back into her pocket after a quick glance, a disappointed face smoothed over fast. “Maybe Dorian’s good with getting eaten up, but some of us aren’t into big hairy men. Drinks at my place after instead, right?”

“What,” the Bull says, “not going to get laid?”

Sera sighs heavily. “Just not the same. Adaar’s lot were here last time. Nothing else measures up. Get it? ‘Cause, like: woof.”

Shokrakar is indeed a fine figure of a woman. The Bull knows her, from before. Good to know she’s doing alright, though he wouldn’t have said so a few years ago.

“Nothing to do with Dagna, then,” Dorian says. “You’re not mooning and checking for texts ten times a minute.”

“I’ll moon you, you arse,” Sera says, and is half way up onto the table ready to make good when Dorian yanks her down again, catches her unsteadily and turns his forward motion into an elegant dip, like he meant it.

“You, my friend, are inebriated,” Dorian says.

“Psht,” Sera says. “Takes one to know one. How come you can still say your fancy words.”

“I’m not nearly drunk enough to lose those,” Dorian says, as though he ever does. He has been drinking lightly, though. “Come on, get up. You aren’t particularly light.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sera says. “Lighter than your _boy_ friend. Bet you let him sleep on top of you.”

He does. Had, the few times they’ve actually passed out together. Loves the Bull’s weight over him.

“Sera,” Dorian says. “Go and dance, would you? Kiss someone inappropriately. Have fun.”

She sticks her tongue out at him, childish, and then ruins that part of it by adding her fingers in a V on either side of it.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” the Bull says, because she fucking loves that one.

He wins her best cackle, and then she’s off, into the press, agile despite drunkenness.

Dorian throws himself down next to the Bull, presses himself close against his side. The bench is pretty narrow if one of the people sitting on it is the Bull, so that figures, but it’s pretty nice anyway. Dorian’s warm, his skin damp with clean sweat, and the smell of it kind of gets the Bull going, makes him think about other ways of getting all hot and sweaty.

“Doing alright?” he asks Dorian.

“Better if you could dance,” Dorian says. “Honestly, spraining your wretched ankle. You’re such an oaf sometimes. I could have been sucking you off in the men’s room as we speak, but you’d fall over and need help and it would be mortifying.”

When he sprained it, bad enough that he thought he’d broken something, Dorian came and got him. Carried him to his car, arm over the shoulder, taking his weight. Sat with him in the waiting room at the hospital and everything, paced in worry, told ridiculous stories until the Bull relaxed. Pretty sweet, for friends with benefits.

“Dirty,” the Bull says. “You want to suck me off in public, huh?”

“Hmm,” Dorian says. “I suppose I am. I do, after all. But I could find a compromise. Would you like that?”

An apparently idle pat of his hand to the Bull’s knee. His fingers curl against the Bull’s loose trousers, nails scratching teasingly at the skin on the inside of his thigh. Loose thin fabric’s good for something.

The Bull shifts a little, spreads his legs, can’t really help it. He’s fucking turned on now where he was only half way there before.

“Shit,” he says. “ _Yeah_.”

Dorian’s palm drags up his leg. Dorian’s fingers press into the crease of his thigh. Press—holy shit—right against his cock, already mostly hard.

Dorian rubs little circles, lets the fabric drag back and forth. Traces the shape of the Bull’s cock.

His face is turned away, as though he’s really interested in Sera’s progress out on the dance floor, or maybe looking out for other friends. His free hand is under his chin, elbow propped up on the table.

His fingers find the head of the Bull’s cock; press firmly against it, circle it.

The Bull grunts, holds his hips still by will alone. Dorian’s boldness, the studied casualness of his posture. The whirl of activity around them, and here at the still centre of the world—crap, but it’s good, it’s so good.

The movement of the room brings another familiar face into view.

The Bull pulls on his mask. Stillness.

Dorian says, “Oh, Cassandra, I see you survived the bear pit.” Smiles up at her like he’s never thought a filthy thought in his life. Under the table, his fingertip flicks against the Bull’s cock.

“The bear pit,” Cassandra says flatly, sitting herself down on the opposite bench, body still turned towards the dance floor. Probably doesn’t mean to stay, even if she won’t be dancing. “Really.”

“You’ll have to ask Sera,” Dorian says. “Are you joining us?”

“Perhaps, until I find where Varric has crept off to,” she says. “He must come by sooner or later. If he has abandoned me here, I will wring his neck. He promised me—never mind. I could stay a little while. But only—” a look back and forth between them. “Only if I am not intruding.”

“Nah,” the Bull says. “Why would you be?”

“Ah,” she says. “I was under the impression that the two of you were an item? I merely thought—”

Dorian laughs, although his hand stills between the Bull’s legs. “Well, that’s a rather generous way of putting it.”

The Bull’s not sure if he means it. He’s not sure if it’s true. He’s not even sure if he wants it to be true.

He doesn’t fuck many people more than once. He doesn’t really fuck his friends at all.

Maybe that makes it something.

“We have fun,” the Bull says, grinning. “A _lot_ of fun.”

Dorian’s back to careful minute movements before she’s even stood up, well-concealed. His arm held still, only his hand in motion, lifting the Bull’s balls with a fingertip, squeezing them gently, returning his attention to the base of the Bull’s cock instead.

“Ugh,” Cassandra says, pretty much on reflex. Softens. “Fun. Well, whatever it is you call it. Oh, there—do excuse me.”

It’s a tease. It’s not enough to get off on, but it keeps him wound up, keeps his body humming with arousal, It’s almost achingly intense now, tight between his legs and in the pit of his stomach, tingling across the back of his neck, cradling his skull. Fluttering behind his ribs. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Did she notice?” Dorian murmurs.

The Bull shakes his head. “Really did spot Varric. With Isabela.”

“Goodness,” Dorian says. “Cassandra and Isabela. Remarkable. Is anyone dying yet?”

“Pretty sure hanging out with Isabela’ll be good for her,” the Bull says. Shudders as Dorian curls his entire hand around the Bull’s cock. “Fuck, I wanna feel you on my skin.”

“Later,” Dorian says, but he sounds a bit breathless now, and that’s good enough, flustering him, making him lose his shit like he always makes the Bull lose his. “You can fuck me. I’m feeling ever so generous. Having you fuck me is not, of course, self-serving in the slightest.”

The Bull laughs.

Dorian presses closer against his side, so the Bull pushes his luck and throws an arm around Dorian’s shoulders, loose, laid along the backrest.

Slower music now, so Sera’ll be back with them soon to complain about it.

The Bull lets himself moan, quiet, while they’re kind of alone. Drowned under the noise of the club, only for Dorian’s ears.

Feels the tremor that runs through Dorian at that, feels his own breath catch.

“Do you want,” Dorian says, and breaks off, startled, apparently not having had the Bull’s foresight with regards to company.

But he doesn’t move his hand away.

The Bull offers up silent gratitude for that to the gods he damn well doesn’t have.

“You two old farts,” Sera says, and throws herself onto the bench where Cassandra was sitting. “Just moping around here because someone can’t spot a curb.”

“Yes,” Dorian says. “Our lives are tragic and empty, just like the Bull’s depth perception. Did you kiss anyone?”

He presses his hand flat between the Bull’s legs, good pressure even if there’s no movement. The Bull sits forward for the excuse to rock his hips against it, good pose for looking interested in the answer.

Sera holds up three fingers like she’s saluting. Girl guide promise. A smug smile.

Lying, definitely.

“There you go,” Dorian says. “You’re living the life for all of us.”

“Not really,” Sera says. “Just wondered if you’d buy it. Widdle still hasn’t texted me.”

“Go and change your nose,” Dorian says. “Powder your shoes. Whatever it is that ladies do. We’ll go back to yours and drink to forget. I promise that if we have sex on your sofa once you’re in bed we won’t stain it.”

“Again,” Sera adds. “Don’t believe you. You and your fencing. Always bloody scream, too.”

“I thought it was jousting?”

“Well, yeah. Jousting and fencing.” She hops up again. “If the bears get me, sing a filthy song at my funeral.”

The Bull sits back, laughing. Another long slow drag of Dorian’s hand that he feels through his entire body.

“Yeah,” he says, as soon as Sera’s out of earshot. “I want to get off.”

“Hips forward,” Dorian says. “Slouch a little, for goodness sake. Elbows on the table. You see that redhead? She’s the most fascinating thing you’ve ever seen. I know how you feel about redheads.”

There’s only Dorian in his head.

The rest loses definition.

Dorian undoes the Bull’s belt after all, deft for someone who can’t see what he’s doing and who’s definitely tipsy if not actually in the vicinity of properly drunk.

The Bull’s body actually jolts when Dorian touches him properly, for one rushing second beyond his power to still.

A sharp breath. His.

Dorian, who has held his breath through that first moment, exhales very, very slowly.

Quick touches, firm, meant to get him off as quick as possible, and it’s damn well going to work, wound up as he’s been. Looking across the room. He was meant to be following someone, Dorian told him, some redhead, but it doesn’t matter—it— 

Wave on wave on wave, a rising tide.

The Bull has to grit his teeth as he comes. Keeps his face pretty much in check, he thinks; hangs his head forward over the table like he’s tired or a bit too drunk.

“Such an old man,” Dorian says airily. “Sera’s right, you know. How are you going to make it through our little afterparty?”

Wipes the Bull’s come from his hand on the Bull’s stomach, and tucks him gently back into his clothing.

The Bull draws a deep breath. Lets it go in a rush.

His body is still thrumming with the tail end of his orgasm. Yeah, it’s something.

“Depends,” he says. Turns his face at last towards Dorian, takes in the look of stricken attraction that tries to hide behind an amused smile. “Pretty sure I could find a bit more energy. For you.”

A grin.

“Hopeless,” Dorian says, and kisses him, laughing, on the cheek.

Daring, for Dorian. Somehow more daring, a kiss on the cheek in a gay club, than all of the furtive public touching they’ve ever done put together.

Takes the Bull’s hand, and places it, for a moment, between his legs. Lets him feel, fuck, lets him feel how hard Dorian is, his cock well-hidden by the loose shirt he’s wearing.

“Later,” Dorian mouths, and slips away from him, out of his grip, up onto his feet to clasp Sera’s hand like they’re long lost friends. He uses his clean hand, the Bull notes. Considerate. That’s kind of funny. “Sera! Take us away from all this. We should probably take a trip of our own, but I do think it’s about time, after that.”

“Take you both home and throw you straight in the shower, more like,” Sera says, wrinkling her nose. “Only you’d like it. Ugh, don’t bother, just come on. You know it’s only 'round the corner. Dunno why I put up with either of you.”

“Who else will open the door to you at three in the morning when something goes wrong,” Dorian says serenely, as though it were humour when it’s only plain truth.

“Oh, right,” Sera says. “The friendship thing. Alright. You win this one, you tosser.”

“I adore you beyond measure,” Dorian says. “Come on, come on. Do you have your crutches, Bull? Yes, I know, I’m mothering. Now you know how I feel.”

“Got you there,” Sera says, and the two of them make a buffer so that nobody knocks into him on their way up the stairs.

And they go home.


End file.
